


Whip It Good

by FeelingFredly



Series: Peeling Back the Layers to Expose the Truth [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Light BDSM, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, pre-pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: You didn't live a life like Kisuke's without developing a fewinterestingpreferences, but he knew they weren't for everyone, and really, his relationship with Ichigo was more than he could have ever asked for--loving and supportive in ways he still wasn't sure he deserved. It was just very vanilla.  Which was fine.  Really.So why he was "just visiting" at his old BDSM club?
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Series: Peeling Back the Layers to Expose the Truth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598530
Comments: 6
Kudos: 179
Collections: UraIchi Prompt Challenge #4





	Whip It Good

**Author's Note:**

> Post for UraIchi PC4
> 
> Prompt: "If you can't beat them, arrange to have them beaten." --George Carlin
> 
> OMG I have an art!!! Look at the link! Look at the link! "works inspired by this one"!!! Thank you Pacouro! You're the best!

The crack of the single tail whip echoed over the milling crowd. It called to Kisuke like a siren song heard long ago and etched in his memory.

He took a deep breath and meandered over to the bar along the wall, waving to get the bartender’s attention. “Yamazaki. Neat.”

The bartender glanced down at his bare wrist, the sign that he wasn’t taking part in any scenes that evening, and nodded before pouring a measure of the amber liquid and sliding it across the bar.

“Good to see you again,” he said. “Been a while.”

Kisuke nodded back at him. It had been a long time, almost a year since he’d visited the club, and even longer since he’d felt that sting. He missed it, but some things were worth sacrificing for. Ichigo was worth sacrificing _anything_ for. This? This was nothing.

“Count for me,” the order came, deep and sure with a hint of gravel in it, and a man answered, breathily, “One.”

The whip cracked viciously in a warning, bringing a yelp. “Care to try that again?” The Dom sounded like he was somewhere between amused and annoyed with his partner’s lack of manners.

“One, _sir_.” The breathy voice shook with the effort of speaking and Kisuke could feel a tendril of envy curl low in his stomach and he tried to quash it. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all--out of sight, out of mind might have still been wiser.

“Better. Color?”

The sub’s voice was stronger this time. “Green, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Kisuke rolled a suddenly tense shoulder. “Things have been busy lately. Haven’t had much opportunity to visit.”

 _Spying. Fighting a war. Saving the afterlife._ Kisuke sighed. _Falling in love._

The bartender gave him an appraising look. “New partner keeping you close to home?”

Not for the first time, Kisuke wondered if bartenders all over the world had some sort of sixth sense when it came to reading people. Probably not, but it would be interesting to look into.

“Something like that.”

The whip-crack behind him made him jump. So much for his vaunted Onmitsukido training. “Two, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Kisuke could _feel_ his skin stretched across his bones, flushed and pink and a half-size too small. He paused, waiting… listening.

_Crack._

“Three, sir. Th-thank you, sir.” The sub’s voice hitched on a gasp, and Kisuke sucked in a sympathetic breath. _Poor lucky bastard_.

“I guess you came out for the whip-master’s demonstration, then?” The bartender jerked his chin in the direction of the stage on the far side of the club. “Mistress Marigold brought him in a couple of weeks ago, and he’s already got quite the following.”

The crack of the whip punctuated his comment and a low murmur of approval flowed through the mass of bodies. Kisuke turned to take a better look at the crowd. He recognized many of them, had played with some of them, but he’d never seen the room so uniformly impressed over a single tail whip-man. It was too much for most people; floggers were easier to learn to use, and easier for the mildly masochistic to take. The single tail had a bite that was an acquired taste, and it took strength and control to wield. Not an easy combination.

Kisuke was skilled with a whip. He enjoyed the precision of it, placing little lines of dull heat and sharp pain, arranging them neatly up and down, a searing pattern that burned through the skin and the brain, glowing in the back of their head as brightly as it glowed on the skin of their back. He’d just never had a partner that wanted that, and since Kisuke preferred to be on the receiving end of such attentions, he hadn’t looked very hard.

“Does he always use his partner for the demonstrations?” A tiny part of his brain chased the idea of volunteering. It wouldn’t be a full scene. It wouldn’t really cross any lines. He shifted his weight, fully aware of the half-hard length in his pants, and shut that train of thought down. It would be sexual—it always was for him—and that wasn’t acceptable. Ichigo would never understand.

Kisuke turned back to the bar and tipped his empty glass in a silent request. 

Why _was_ he here? Ichigo was everything he wanted. Their relationship was new but their sex life was active enough. The fact that it was painfully vanilla wasn’t a reason to go looking for satisfaction elsewhere.

The bartender refilled his glass. “Funny you should ask—the sub with him this evening actually won a drawing for the spot. Mamoru-sama doesn’t have a regular partner that he scenes with, and he doesn’t ever expand past the whip work, even though I’ve heard more than a few offers tossed his way. Mistress Marigold talked him into four of these shows, each one set up with a drawing winner from subs that she vetted. Takahashi’s partner is up there to step in if he needs it and to provide after care. She wasn’t thrilled at letting someone else scene with him, but she said he begged so prettily she couldn’t resist.”

Just then the whip cracked again dragging a groan and a whimper with it. “Nnnnh, _six_ , sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Color?” The humor was gone, the Dom once again all business.

“Green, sir. Oh, please, sir. _Please_.” The sub had tears in his voice but layered under them was a clear note of want that Kisuke knew very well.

“What was the count to be?” The question hung there, the answer already known, but the check a good one to see how deep his partner was in subspace.

“Uh,” a gasp and the sound of shifting, “Eight, sir. Please, Mamoru-sama. _Please_.”

“Good boy,” the Dom sounded satisfied, his voice curling around the praise. “Two more.”

“Thank you, Mamoru-sama.”

Only two more stripes. Kisuke downed the rest of his whisky and nodded to the barman. “Guess I’d better move if I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Maneuvering through the crowd was simple. No one was watching anything but the show. The whip master was broad-shouldered, dressed all in black. Skin-tight black sleeves hugged his biceps and his black hair was loose. His ass was probably nice, but it was covered more than it should be by black leather pants, and he wore a black mask. His feet were bare.

The sub was secured to a St. Andrew’s cross, arms and legs stretched out, and there were three perfectly aligned red stripes down each flank. His head was dipped forward and his eyes were closed, lips moving in an almost silent _please, please, please_. His Domme was standing just outside the velvet rope that held the crowd at a safe distance, clearly wanting to be closer, but patient. For now.

It was fascinating to watch. The whip was loose, an easy three meters of West Coast style whip that moved like it had a life of its own, but Kisuke could tell that it was completely under the man’s control, just like the sub across from him. He flexed and gracefully pulled his arm up, swinging the length of leather over his head and then down, faster than sight could follow, the heavily loaded end of the whip catching the sub’s side perfectly, a dull knife of heat that would bloom and settle in as the sound faded.

Kisuke shivered.

“Seven, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Kisuke moved closer to the sub’s regular partner. She was lovely—perfectly styled blonde hair pulled up in a braid, a purple leather bustier pushing things up and down in ways Mother Nature never intended but that were undeniably attractive. Her tension was a palpable thing, though. He couldn’t tell if it was jealousy over how her sub was responding to the whip or concern for his well-being.

“He’s beautiful,” Kisuke murmured to her and she nodded once, tightly.

“He is.” Her head tilted a fraction and he could tell that she was actually looking at him now. “He really is.”

The whip master made his final swing, a beautiful back-handed thing that echoed of Florentine play, and the last mark was made, just as perfect as the seven that had come before it, and the sub jerked and cried out.

“He was so excited for this. I don’t do whip work—bad shoulder—and he’s missed it. He didn’t ask for this, though. I put his name in the drawing. I just didn’t realize how much it would bother me to see how much I wasn’t giving him.”

Kisuke looked back at the sub, the peace and tears on his face, and shook his head. “Looks to me like you have given him plenty, Mistress. You’ve taken excellent care of his needs.”

At that moment the floor manager came to drop the ropes so she could join her sub, but she stopped and gave him a thankful look. “He is my duty, and my pleasure. Thank you.”

Kisuke bowed slightly and watched her walk away.

“I should give her my business card,” a voice spoke quietly behind him and he forced himself not to jump. “You’re slipping Kisuke. I could have stabbed you three times already.”

The blond froze. He knew that voice.

“The club doesn’t allow weapons, Ichigo,” he forced the words past stiff lips, “and I’m _not really myself_ , as you know, so there’s an extra level of durability built in. It allows me to let my guard down when I’m here.”

It was true that the gigai gave him more latitude than the average human, but he _should_ have felt Ichigo’s reiatsu. He turned expecting to find a judgmental redhead, only to freeze again as he found himself face to face with the whip master.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Is that the only response I get?” Ichigo half-pouted as he pulled off his mask. “I’d hoped for more of a reaction.”

Kisuke looked at him and gave his best bland look. “It’s reaction enough. I am disappointed with myself—I should have recognized you even with the hair. You look every inch the Shiba now.”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, the poised Dom gone for an instant, and Kisuke’s heart lurched a little. “Yeah, Rukia flipped when she saw me. She punched me because I looked too much like Kaien. Renji punched me, too, so I think I must’ve really upset her.”

“Kuchiki-san is more sensitive than she admits,” he said, fighting back all the other words that were threatening to tumble out of his mouth. _Why are you here? Where did you learn to do this? Rukia knows about this? Why didn’t you tell me? Where’s my innocent Ichigo?_

His head was buzzing, and he felt his breath hitch in his chest. He needed to calm down.

The man standing before him was so far from what he’d come to expect from his boyfriend—the physical presence, the dominant force of him… the _leather…_ his brain knew what was going on, but something more visceral was wreaking havoc with his pulse. It was too much. He didn’t even know where to start.

Ichigo took pity on him.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” he asked.

“What?” Kisuke let out a breathless laugh. “That you’d be good with a whip? Of course not. You’re a natural with any weapon I’ve ever seen you pick up. The fact that you’re in a BDSM club whipping mostly naked strangers when I thought you were studying for your English exams? Yes. It’s a little hard to believe.”

Ichigo took a step closer. “And should I be surprised that you’re in a BDSM club instead of at the shop finishing inventory? Or that you’ve deliberately locked this part of yourself away from me from the beginning? I’m young, Kisuke, not blind and not stupid.”

He reached out and grazed a fingertip along the scruffy line of Kisuke’s jaw. “You think I don’t notice the shudder that quakes through you when I pull your hair a little too hard or hold you down beneath me so you can’t even squirm? That I wouldn’t realize the lines on your back are too regular for battle scars? Give me some credit, old man.”

The Dom voice was back and Kisuke felt it all the way to his toes. He flushed, partially from embarrassment, but mostly because of the way it made his cock twitch in his pants. “I never wanted to pressure you into something you weren’t comfortable with. I’ve always been a switch; I don’t need _this_ to be happy.”

Ichigo closed the gap between them even more, his breath hot on Kisuke’s neck as he spoke. “As you can see, I’m very… comfortable with _this_ , and _this_ is clearly something that you want—something that you miss—or you wouldn’t be here tonight suffering from second-hand sub-drop.”

The accusation ran through Kisuke’s veins like ice water. 

“I’m not…”

The room faded out around him, the noise muffled by the pounding of his heart in his ears, and he forced a loose stance to keep himself from swaying on his feet.

Ichigo cupped his jaw. “Kisuke, your eyes are dilated. Your breathing is short. You are unaware of your surroundings in a way that I’ve never seen you allow.” Amber eyes searched his face. “Whether you want this with me or not, you’re not okay, and I want to help. Let me? Please?”

Kisuke forced a deep breath and let it out. He could feel every callous on Ichigo’s fingers, his pulse, his breath. So familiar and so comforting. Did he want this? Yes. With Ichigo? A thousand times _yes_.

He nodded. “That sounds…” he swallowed, “like a good idea.”

Suddenly everything was moving again, noise and people around him. Ichigo steered them towards the rooms in the back, signaling to Mistress Marigold as they went.

“Is everything okay, Mamoru-san? Who is this you have with you?” she asked, cutting through the crowd like an ice-breaker. “Oh, Urahara-san! It’s lovely to have you back with us this evening.” She bowed deeply. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with each other, but I suppose, considering your fondness for good whip-work, I should not be surprised.”

Kisuke didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not. Ichigo, in his typical style, opted for not.

“You’re too kind, Mistress Marigold, but yes. My Kisuke has always appreciated competence; I’m just happy he sees it in me. He surprised me this evening or I would have told you that I was expecting a guest.”

Her eyebrow quirked at his “my Kisuke” and Kisuke himself felt a shiver run down his back at such publicly possessive language. He’d always considered Ichigo to be _his_. It felt very different being the one claimed.

“Nevertheless,” she said with a pointed glance at Kisuke’s naked wrist, “it does not appear that _your Kisuke_ planned on a scene this evening.” She turned to him, blocking Ichigo from his view. “I know you are familiar with the rules, Urahara-san. This is most unusual.”

Kisuke felt his face warm. “I’m afraid I underestimated how… _affected_ I would be by the demonstration this evening, Mistress. Ichi… ah… Mamoru-sama is concerned and wants to provide care. We would appreciate the privacy of a room, but if you cannot allow it, we will simply go home.”

She raised one groomed-until-it-screamed eyebrow. “Home? As in your joint residence?”

He bowed and nodded. “Yes. It is a relatively new development and why I have been absent for the past few months.”

A look of understanding dawned on her face. “ _And_ why our whip master has been so careful not to involve himself with any of his partners beyond the necessary aftercare.” She smiled at him. “In that case I daresay I can trust your well-being to him.”

She turned back to Ichigo. “Number four is open, Mamoru-san. Consider the use of it a gift in thanks for your excellent performance this evening. Taka-chan and his Mistress are both quite pleased.”

Ichigo accepted the praise with a little noise of thanks. "If Mistress Astrid asks, would you please give her one of my cards? She mentioned that she might wish to use my services again."

"Of course, Mamoru-san," Marigold said, stepping back so they could walk past her. "I would be happy to. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Kisuke glanced over at him, his curiosity surfacing for a moment as Ichigo guided him gently by the elbow.

“You actually have business cards? What do they say?" He let out a half laugh. "Let me guess: If you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten?”

Ichigo laughed as well, shutting the door behind them.

“Well, they didn’t before, but after that I think I’m going to put you in charge of marketing.” Ichigo walked them towards a couch in the corner and pulled Kisuke down onto his lap. His arms were warm and tight, and the leather of his trousers creaked under Kisuke’s hips. It was completely strange and yet somehow managed to be familiar. “That way you still get to be in charge of _something._ Have to keep you out of trouble somehow.”

Kisuke leaned into Ichigo’s shoulder, letting his weight rest fully against him. “Ichigo? I hope you don’t think that just because you can swing a whip I’m going to drop to my knees every time you blink.”

There was both fondness and challenge in Ichigo’s voice when he answered. “Oh no. I’ve met you remember? I'd never dream you’d just give in without a fight, Kisuke.” He tightened his grip and they both relaxed into it. “That’s going to be the best part.”

 _Yes_ , the older man thought with a shiver, the whispered words a promise he never thought he'd receive. _Yes, it will be_.

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fun: 
> 
> Ichigo's name is written 一護. That second Kanji is (according to my best Google-fu, let me know if I'm totally off) Mamoru, and reads as protection. Mamoru is a relatively common guy's name in Japan, so I just decided that he'd choose something related to his actual name for his stage name. Hopefully I'm not too far off with the language stuff, but at least you know where I was going with it. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [1000x Yes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827577) by [PacificOuroboros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacificOuroboros/pseuds/PacificOuroboros)




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